


the touch of a serpent sun

by ThunderstormsandMemories



Category: Friends at the Table (Podcast)
Genre: Canon Compliant, Developing Friendships, Gen, Missing Scene, Secret Samol 2020, could be read as pre-relationship but not inherently romantic
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-31
Updated: 2021-01-31
Packaged: 2021-03-17 13:28:48
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,810
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29101038
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/ThunderstormsandMemories/pseuds/ThunderstormsandMemories
Summary: three quiet moments together aboard a stolen fortress—testing a gun, cooking together, and stargazing—and the friendship that begins to formOR,“I’ve been working on- well, you know how I make guns and stuff?” There was a smudge of grease on Broun’s forehead and a few charred spots on their coveralls, and Milli wondered what strange new form of ‘guns and stuff’ Broun had been working on that day.“Yeah, I’ve heard,” said Milli dryly.
Relationships: Kalmera Broun & Ver'million Blue
Comments: 8
Kudos: 9





	the touch of a serpent sun

**Author's Note:**

> Written for Secret Samol 2020 for a lovely prompt from [valentinegirlz](https://twitter.com/valentinegirlz) about Broun and Milli hanging out! Hope you enjoy!
> 
> Spoilers through PZN 27

I.

“Hey, do you have a minute?” Milli turned, surprised that Broun was poking their head out of their workshop to talk to her. They weren’t _not_ on good terms with each other, but Broun was even less the friendly sort than Milli herself. At least Milli, through years of faking it until she was just about making it, could manage the sort of casual friendship that sprouted up amongst people who saw each other every day and were working toward the same goal. Soldiers in the same unit, prisoners on the same cell block, revolutionaries on the same stolen base, that sort of thing. Broun didn’t seem to have any of that, seemed prickly and isolated and distinctly uninterested in changing that, except sometimes around Valence and, on more rare occasions, Thisbe.

“Yeah, what’s up?” Milli wasn’t on her way anywhere in particular, though she was hoping to make it to the mess hall before all the good desserts were taken.

“I’ve been working on- well, you know how I make guns and stuff?” There was a smudge of grease on Broun’s forehead and a few charred spots on their coveralls, and Milli wondered what strange new form of ‘guns and stuff’ Broun had been working on that day.

“Yeah, I’ve heard,” said Milli dryly.

“Right, yeah, of course,” said Broun. “Well, I’ve been working on modding some of the stuff that got left behind when we- well, you more than me, I guess, since you were literally there- took this place over, making it a little more interesting, you know?”

“Sure,” said Milli. “Makes sense.”

“And I’ve been testing it out a little bit myself as I go but I thought it might be better for someone who’s a little, you know, better at that kind of thing to really see how well it works.”

“You want me to test your fancy new guns because I’m the best shot you know,” said Milli, standing up a little bit straighter, flattered but trying not to let it get to her head, and she followed Broun into their workshop.

“Here it is,” said Broun, opening up a weapons case and removing the gun: something solid and bulky, with what looked like a bunch of fiddly attachments welded onto it, like one of those knives that was actually three knives and also a can opener and a corkscrew and a compass. “I’m not really sure what to call it yet but I wanted to make sure it worked before wasting a whole bunch of time brainstorming name ideas.” They brought it over to Milli, held it out to her for inspection.

“This is a shotgun,” said Milli, staring down at it. She recognized the make and model of the base gun: it was Apostolosian, slightly too nice to be standard issue for ordinary ground troops but not cutting-edge enough to be reserved for soldiers like GLORY. Soldiers like Ver’million Blue had been. Most of the modifications, though, Milli recognized as Broun’s own unique style.

“Yep,” said Broun proudly. “Or it was, anyway.”

“You attached a knife and a sniper scope to a shotgun,” said Milli.

“I sure did,” Broun said. “Is that stupid? You’re looking at me like it’s stupid.”

“It’s not stupid,” said Milli. “It’s just uh… unorthodox. I’m sure it’s fine, let me give it a shot.” Broun stared at her for a moment, and Milli stared back, realizing what words had just fallen out of her mouth. “Pun intended,” she said. “Definitely intentional.”

She took the gun, hefted it in her hands to test the weight, and ran her hand over the grip experimentally. It wasn’t too terribly unbalanced, which was impressive considering how much extra shit had been attached to it, and probably anyone less attuned to guns than Milli—which was pretty much everyone on Partizan and definitely everyone in Millenium Break—wouldn’t have noticed anything off about it at all.

It was fine craftsmanship, Milli could tell that even without firing it, and she nodded approvingly as Broun led her toward the target they’d set up against the back wall of their workshop, handed her protective equipment like a good scientist who cared about lab safety, and then stood back to watch the results.

It was a good gun. Milli was pleased that she was the person Broun had picked to test it.

II.

Broun hadn’t expected anyone else to be in the kitchen this late at night. They’d lost track of time, trying to perfect their latest attempt at a better hydraulics system for the Hippocampus, gotten so engrossed in their work that they’d forgotten about dinner entirely, until they found themself making sloppy, impatient mistakes, nearly snapping a particularly delicate component in their frustration, and they realized that maybe they were hungry.

There was a small kitchen on their level, a few corridors away. It wasn’t anything fancy, not like the main kitchen that was attached to the mess hall, but it had a stove and an oven and a pantry stocked with Apostolosian military rations that wouldn’t go bad any time this century, which meant it suited Broun’s needs perfectly. They weren’t much of a cook, never had been, but they’d been on their own long enough to know how to throw ingredients together until they produced something edible.

Milli was sitting so silently and still that Broun didn’t notice her at first, leaned back in the chair in the corner with her booted feet up on the table. Broun jumped, startled, and Milli waved at them.

“Fancy meeting you here,” she said.

“Yeah,” said Broun. “Small fortress, huh?”

“Yeah,” Milli agreed. “Did you need me for more gun testing or…”

She made no move to get up, and her arms were folded across her chest, and it occurred to Broun that she probably wanted to be alone as much as they did. “I was just looking for a snack,” they said, “but I can just go if you need the space, I think I have some gummies in my room or something.”

“Nah, you’re fine,” said Milli. “I’ll probably end up making enough for two anyway. If you want.” She gestured over to the stovetop, where a pot of water was just coming to a rolling boil, and the pile of ingredients on the counter next to it: a package of familiar black noodles, several small jars of seasoning, and a large block of fancy-looking cheese.

“Is that…”

“Squid ink pasta? Yeah.” Milli shrugged. “Being on an Apostolosian ship gets me feeling a little bit nostalgic, I guess. Not that there’s anything to be nostalgic for, but you know how it is.”

“Yeah,” said Broun, glancing around the kitchen, at the familiar style, the sleek, efficient military design principles obvious even in a space that was meant to be more personal. They didn’t get homesick, not really, had never cared quite enough about where they came from for that, but the sight of a traditional Apostolosian dish being prepared in a kitchen that looked like it belonged in any Apostolosian ship or apartment or military base still pulled at something deep in their heart that they didn’t realize still existed.

“So are you gonna want some or not?” said Milli, and Broun realized that while they’d been zoning out, Milli had gotten up and was now standing over the pot of water, hand on her hip, holding up the package of noodles expectantly.

“Uh, yeah, sure,” said Broun, and Milli nodded and dumped in all of the pasta. And then, belatedly, as they realized that they were probably being fairly rude: “Do you need help with anything?”

“I mean, not really?” said Milli. “It’s a pretty simple recipe. I guess you could grate the cheese though, if you want.”

“Okay, yeah,” said Broun. “I’ll just. Do that then.” The cheese was definitely too fancy to come from the leftover military rations, and Broun wondered where Milli had gotten it. Probably one of those pirate raids she and Exeter Leap and some of the more enthusiastic members of Millenium Break had been going on. Broun had ended up with some pretty sweet new equipment and tools from those raids, but it hadn’t occurred to them to ask anyone to bring them back nicer food. The food they served in the mess hall was fine, and Broun wasn’t especially picky, but there was something nice about doing this with Milli, about the familiar meal that they were preparing for themselves together. The cheese was hard and sharp, grating into fluffy curls that Broun was stealthily eating as they worked.

Not stealthily enough, apparently, because Milli noticed and raised one pierced eyebrow in Broun’s direction. “Leave enough for me,” she said, leaving off stirring for long enough to scoop a handful of the cheese into her own mouth.

“Oops,” said Broun unapologetically.

“Whatever,” said Milli, shrugging. “There’s still plenty and the noodles are done now anyway. Wanna hold the strainer or pour the water?”

Broun took the strainer, wincing a little bit as a drop of the steaming water splashed up and hit their hand, and then dumped the pasta back into the pot so that Milli could add in the spices and oil and cheese.

There was a story about some old Apostolosian warlord who made squid ink pasta for their family, during the dark, cold, endless night of a long space voyage en route to a glorious battle. Cassius? Cassiopeia? Something like that, anyway, Broun thought. The one that Cas’alear was named after. They never did pay too much attention in history class. The way that story was always told made it seem like some big patriotic thing, to show that this great hero was so dedicated to their empire—because Apostolos was always referred to as an empire, no matter how true that may have been at any given point—that even in the depths of space, where fresh ingredients were hard to come by, they still made a favorite national dish. Broun kind of thought it was just because it was something that was easy to make, and maybe they just liked making things for people they cared about.

Not that Broun would admit that there were people they cared about. But there was satisfaction to be found in mending Valence’s mech and working on the hydroponics system with Thisbe and making guns for Milli and now cooking with her too. It was about a job well done, and a tangible result. The fact that people appreciated them for what they could do was just a bonus.

“Not bad,” said Milli, plucking up a noodle with her hand and tossing it into her mouth. “Wanna try?”

“Yeah,” Broun said, finding that they were in a much better mood than earlier, despite not yet having solved the problem of their hunger. “Thanks.”

III.

Milli didn’t expect anyone else to be out on the roof at this time of night, which was kind of the point. The top deck of Fort Icebreaker wasn’t a common place to hang out, though technically it was a place where people could congregate if they so chose, but the roof of the stairwell and elevators was guaranteed to be deserted. She liked to sit there, overlooking the deck, legs dangling off the side of the cold metal roof, gazing out at the stars reflected in the sea below. The winds were strong up here, so she could never stay for as long as she wanted with her face and finger going numb, but it was nice to get away from people for a little bit and clear her head.

It wasn’t that she disliked spending time with people. She enjoyed the sense of comradery she shared with Leap and A.O. and the rest of the motley squad of pirates and former prisoners, and she liked chilling with them after missions, watching trashy movies from planets whose names she only vaguely recognized and passing around popcorn flavored with whatever spices anyone happened to have laying around. But sometimes it could get a bit overwhelming, and sometimes she thought about how no one here really understood how different she was from the person she was supposed to be.

The creak of the stairwell door—someone should really oil those hinges, maybe she’d do it next time she was up here if she could snag a can of grease from Leap—jolted her out of her thoughts.

“Oh,” Broun said. “Sorry about doing this. Again.”

“Nah, no worries,” said Milli. “Wasn’t thinking about anything that important.”

“I come up here for that too sometimes,” Broun said. “To think. It can get pretty loud down there, even in my workshop. Always people walking by having conversations and wanting to ask me questions.” They shuddered, horrified.

“Yeah, I get that,” said Milli. “Anyway, wanna sit with me for a bit? You seem like you’ve had kind of a stressful time recently.”

“Sure,” said Broun, starting to climb the ladder up to where Milli was, and Milli offered them a hand at the top to pull them up the rest of the way. Their palm was calloused from the mechanical work they did, and much warmer than Milli’s chilled fingers. “Thanks.”

“Anytime,” said Milli, and then, while Broun settled down, sitting next to her with their knees pulled up to their chest, arms around their shins, she said, “So. What’s the problem now?”

Broun sighed heavily, spit a piece of loose hair out of their mouth, and said, “Nothing specific, really. It’s just a lot, you know? And everyone expects shit from me now, like I’m some kind of responsible leader or whatever, and I’m just really not that.” They sighed again, rested their chin on their knees. “What about you?”

“Oh, more of the same,” said Milli. “You know how it is.”

“Yeah,” Broun said, and then, looking out across the water, they said thoughtfully, “Do you ever think about going somewhere else?”

“All the time,” said Milli, leaning back on her hands and staring up at the stars. Somewhere up there, one of those twinkling lights was the Portcullis gate that could take her far away from Partizan and Girandole and hopefully from the Principality altogether. It might take a while to get to somewhere that had never been troubled by the name Apostolos, but it would be worth it. It had to be.

“Me too,” said Broun.

“Yeah?” Milli said, still watching the stars. A streak of light shot across the sky and then faded: an asteroid maybe, or a ship. Hard to say, at this distance. Milli liked to imagine it was a ship, carrying someone else who was running like she was. She wished them luck, with whatever they were trying to escape. “Where do you wanna go?”

“Anywhere that’s not here,” said Broun. “Just… away from all this, you know?”

“Yeah,” Milli said, laughing bitterly. “Trust me, I really do. No destination in mind, though? No plans?” Not like Milli had any concrete plans of her own, beyond the idea that she might like to learn how to garden: to grow things rather than destroy them, to see if she could work with her hands covered in dirt instead of engine grease and blood. But Broun had always struck her as an eminently pragmatic sort of person, the kind of person who always had a contingency plan to save their own neck.

“Nope,” said Broun. They shrugged. “I’ve got enough marketable skills, I should be able to figure something out.”

“Ha,” said Milli. “I don’t, unless you count,” she waved a hand at the fortress like it was a stand-in for a lifetime of brutality and fear, of being shaped into a weapon for an empire and then wielding herself against it instead, “all this. You know, the whole child soldier turned secret agent turned revolutionary thing.”

“Probably pretty hard to fit that on a resume, huh,” said Broun.

Milli laughed, more genuinely this time, and Broun laughed with them. “You could say that.”

“Yeah,” said Broun. “It’s just…” Their voice trailed off as they shivered, teeth chattering, and clutched their knees closer to their chest. “Sorry. Somehow I wasn’t expecting it to be _this_ cold up here right now.” The only outer layer they were wearing was a light canvas jacket over their usual coveralls, and Milli wasn’t surprised that they were feeling the cold.

"Let’s go inside,” said Milli. “I would offer you my jacket but then _I’d_ be cold, and I think Leap found more of that fancy hot chocolate somewhere, I’m sure he’d let us have some.”

“Yeah, I’d like that,” said Broun, and they hopped down to the deck, Milli following close behind with one longing glance back up at the stars, and they walked together back into the warmth.

**Author's Note:**

> Title is from a misheard line from Thank You for the Venom by My Chemical Romance because Ali said she would want a Broun & Milli AMV set to that song (I think it’s supposed to be ‘son’ not ‘sun’ but I wanted the sun imagery to go with the section where they’re looking at the stars, and the symbol of Stel Apostolos is a sea serpent and this deals a bit with each of their feelings about Apostolos so here we are.)(Now that I’m looking for a source to make sure I’m getting that right I can’t actually find where they said it but I swear I heard Austin talking about how all of the Stels were represented by a different mythical creature at some point and Apostolos was a sea serpent.)
> 
> I’m on [twitter](https://twitter.com/s_artemisios) if you want to say hi or talk about how cool Milli is or be sad about various Apostolosian exiles and defectors with me! Love to be emo about the legacy of Cassander Timaeus Berenice!


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